


With a Little Help

by schweinsty



Category: Now You See Me (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt!Jack, Hurt/Comfort, Offscreen Intended Sexual Assault, Papa Bear Dylan, no plot really, nonconsensual drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 14:43:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8018044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweinsty/pseuds/schweinsty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack gets in some trouble, and Dylan helps him out. Set between 1 & 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With a Little Help

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jedibuttercup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/gifts).



> 1\. There's a detailed note on a sexual assault trigger in the notes at the end of the fic. 
> 
> 2\. Written for a prompt on comment-fic over on livejournal.

The call comes in at a quarter to three. Dylan almost lets it ring out. It's been a long day, and he has to be up in just a few hours.

But you never know.

“Who'zit,” he croaks when he manages to swipe into answering the call.

“Dylan? Man, I'm sorry, I didn't know who else to call.” Jack's voice is low and hushed and wary and a little slurred, and just like that Dylan's wide awake and reaching for his pants.

“It's fine. What's wrong?”

“I'm—I don't. I woke up in this house, and I think—I think maybe this guy knows who I am.”

He steps into his shoes and grabs his wallet and he's out the door. “Are you safe right now? I'm coming to get you.”

“Yeah, he's gone, I—I don't know where I am. I need to find a—need to find a street, let me just--”

“No!” His parking spot's right next to the garage elevator, thank God. He sets his phone up on the cell mount on his dashboard and pulls out of the garage. “Stay inside until I get there. I can track the GPS on your phone. I'll be there soon, okay?”

It's a twenty-minute drive. He makes it in just under eight. Jack's in a warehouse district—not unlike where Dylan's got him and Merritt bunking down—somewhere in a dark building that's abandoned, as far as Dylan can tell. He comes out almost as soon as Dylan drives up, stumbles over to the passenger side door and sits down heavily.

“You all right?” Dylan asks even as he pulls away. Jack doesn't answer. He waits until they're two blocks down to prod. “Hey. You with me?”

Jack, slumped against the window, jerks up. “Wh-sorry. Sorry, I. I dunno. I feel weird.”

“Are you hurt?”

Jack shakes his head. “I—I think he drugged me? I don't remember what happened. I just woke up, and I think he was going to—anyway, it freaked him out when I woke up, I think I was supposed to stay out for longer, and he ran off.”

Dylan pulls over and takes a good look. Jack's pupils are blown wide as hell, and his shirt's messy and untucked, but otherwise there's nothing visibly wrong with him.

“Good,” Dylan says. The tightness in his chest gives way, and he sets the parking break. “You said you thought he knew who you were?”

Jack's fingers twist in the tight, thick fabric of his jeans. “He kept calling me Jack. I don't think I told him my name.”

He reaches out for Jack's shoulder, open and slow, but Jack hitches up and scrunches back up against the door.

Right. Jack spent six years a street hustler before Dylan ever found him. Dylan forgets, sometimes.

“It's all right,” Dylan says. He sets his hand back down, though, takes off the break and eases the car back onto the empty street. “I'm not gonna hurt you.”

Jack makes a visible effort and settles back into his seat. “Yeah, I know. Sorry.”

Dylan shrugs. “Nothing to be sorry for. Come on. Let's get you home, and I can check out this guy later.”

He'll do way more than check the guy out, but Jack doesn't need to focus on that right now. “But you're sure he didn't—you're sure you're not hurt?”

Jack twitches, bites his lip and taps his foot and bops his head against the window. “Nah, I think he thought I'd had more to drink. I don't—I don't remember, don't know what he gave me, but he was just setting up when I came to.”

“All right.”

It's a quiet night, even for New York; school night in February, cold enough that no one wants to be caught outside. It's probably why Jack felt it was safe enough to go out, hit a dark, quiet bar without having to act like he's someone else. Judging by the thin leather jacket, he didn't expect to be out long. Probably just wanted to get some space for a couple hours.

“You cold?” Dylan asks when they stop at a red light.

Jack doesn't answer. When Dylan looks, he's out like a light, arms drawn into his chest to make himself as small as possible. Dylan grabs a blanket from the backseat and tosses it over him.

The warehouse is farther away than his apartment, especially now he's not speeding, but Dylan has a feeling Jack will be more comfortable in a space he's familiar with.

Jack's still asleep when they arrive, snoring lightly against the glass. Dylan tries to make some noise when he parks and takes his keys out of the ignition, but the kid doesn't twitch.

“Hey. Hey, Jack, come on bud. Time to wake up.” He only touches Jack's arm lightly, but Jack still jerks awake with a gasp, eyes darting around the car. Tense. Wary. Skittish as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, and just as likely to bolt.

Dylan lifts his hand and jerks his head at the warehouse. “We're here.”

“Wh-right. Yeah. Okay.” His words are slurring again, melting into each other, and all he does when Dylan gets out is blink.

Dylan ends up having to walk over and open the door for him, and Jack slips and sags against him when he finally gets up.

“Easy does it.”

Merritt's in the kitchen when they get downstairs, stirring what looks suspiciously like hot chocolate in a pot on the stove.

“Finally,” he calls out when Dylan's foot hits the creaky step. “I was almost starting to worry. Thought you were—whoah, what the hell?”

He takes half of Jack's weight—which, to be fair, isn't a lot—and helps Dylan settle him on the couch. Jack's not much help, barely dragging his feet along, and he's asleep again about two seconds after they set him down.

“Someone spiked his drink.” Dylan holds up his hand before Merritt can jump to conclusions. “He came out of it before anything could happen. Called me. He'll be all right, just needs to sleep it off.” He grabs the blanket he carried in and spreads it out over Jack.

“Uh-huh.” Merritt walks to the end of the couch and starts to work on Jack's boot laces. “And the asshole that did it?”

Dylan grins. “Oh, I've got a feeling FBI Agent Rhodes is going to get an anonymous tip about a date-rapist tomorrow morning.”

“Good.” The boot thunks to the floor, and the other follows shortly. “”Want some cocoa?”

Dylan slips a pillow under the kid's head and checks his breathing. Strong and steady and not at all labored. Good.

“What the hell,” he says.

The cocoa's surprisingly soothing. They sit down on the loveseat and turn on a movie and pretend they aren't watching Jack. Dylan doesn't make noises about heading back home, and Merritt eventually pushes him off to the bedroom he and Jack share to 'catch some z's before work', with a promise to keep an eye on Jack until the kid wakes up.

Dylan falls asleep thinking of excuses he can make for roughing up the guy when he catches up to him.

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: A character is drugged through a spiked drink, with the implication being that it's for date-rape. However, the attempted assault is interrupted before the rape can occur. This all takes place offscreen.


End file.
